


A Wolf, a Cat and a Bear walk into a contract

by brothebro



Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: #givelambertdresses2021, Contract gone wrong, Demi-man Lambert actually, Inspired by the Odyssey, Love Confessions, Love Realisation, M/M, Nonbinary Lambert (The Witcher), POV Lambert (The Witcher), Swearing, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, and also by early 2000's fairytale movies, bunch of himbos hanging out really, grand escape plan, gratuitous use of Witcher signs, he/him pronouns for lambert, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: Maybe Lambert ought to wait for Aiden to join him and then venture to the mountains in search of the – absolutely monster fodder by now – missing villagers. Then again, the prospect of pissing off the Cat and having enough coin to secure comfy lodging for both of them seems very attractive at the moment.Ah, fuck it. He’ll go take a look, and if it’s anything too dangerous for a single witcher he’ll back off and wait for his friend to arrive. Theoretically, he should be here by the end of the week, and Lambert is more than capable of camping outside the town for this length of time.Or: Lambert, Aiden and Julian accidentally take the same contract which leads to some complications and love declarations.
Relationships: Aiden & Jaskier | Dandelion, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert
Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677910
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #04





	A Wolf, a Cat and a Bear walk into a contract

On the border of the great kingdom of Aedirn with the vast land of Hakland lies an unnamed trader town, of the not insignificant population of two thousand souls. There, between the fiery red rocky mountains, in the settlement made of the same red soil and residual wheat, unsuited for consumption, one can find all sorts of merchandise; from colourful intricate fabrics imported from Hakland to rare explosives, and even the odd cursed item sold at an exorbitant price.

It’s one of Lambert’s favourite destinations nigh a decade now, and the spot where he meets his travel companion every spring when he descends from Kaer Morhen, setting out to the Path. He’s not fond of his forced upon profession and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be, but at the very least he’s not alone in this. Aiden is… if he were to be honest, one of the best fucking men in the Continent, no matter what those old farts back in the School of the Wolf say about Cats being unstable or crazy or manic or whatever the fuck they think is ‘wrong’ with them.

Thank fuck most of those fuckers – especially Rennes – are ashes now.

Lambert’s glad he was too far south, hanging out with the Cat, the elders of Kaer Morhen so much hated when the keep was sacked.

In any case, he’s three days early at their meeting spot, much like the year before, having left the cold of the Blue Mountains and the stuffiness of the half-destroyed keep far too soon in the season. 

Was it escapism or desire to see the one-eyed Cat, he doesn’t know. Probably a bit of both. Still, deep inside Lambert hopes to catch a glimpse of his friend’s dark wavy hair among the peasant folk as he makes his way to the town’s market, even though he knows Aiden to be the punctual sort, arriving never too early and never too late. 

Might as well use the extra time to restock his bombs and his potions, and maybe even get a contract if there’s one available. Aiden will be so cross with him if he goes on a hunt by himself; the mental image of the one-eyed Cat pouting brings a smile on Lambert’s lips.

_ The more the reason to do it _ , he hums to himself in thought.

He blows at the unruly fiery curls that fall on his eyes, mentally noting to get himself a couple of new hair bands, and sets out to the large open market to see what goodies he’ll find this year.

The scent of rare spices and vibrant colours assault his senses in a familiar, almost welcome way, as he approaches the first stalls. They got a lot of merchandise this year, he absent-mindedly notes, beelining for Anika and Mariya’s alchemical components shop (they always have the strongest fire-powder available, and that’s something Lambert likes about them).

The witcher’s gaze flickers from stall to stall, as he walks briskly among the many buyers that frequent the town, when it lands on an ornate teal and purple garment. He stops on his tracks, waving dismissively at the man who bumped into him, enthralled by the beautiful craftsmanship of the dress.

Lambert’s old enough to know by now that people don’t take kindly in witchers expressing interest in frippery and fashion; they’re supposed to be killing machines devoid of emotions.  _ He knows first-hand what precise brand of bullshit this is. _

Lambert ogles the dress, unashamed, remembering the elation and comfort he felt the first and only time he wore a garment meant for women. See, he’s known for quite some time now that he’s not – he feels that he’s not a man. At least not like Eskel or Geralt are.

He’s… If he had to put it into words… he’s both a man and not a man at the same time. Somewhere stuck in the middle. And it’s really fucking fine – he’s already considered a mutant freak, and not feeling as he’s supposed to hardly matters anyway.

It’s just the topping on the pie –  _ wait, is this how the saying goes? _ Probably not but again, who the fuck cares?

He eyes the dress up, trying to determine if it will fit him before he asks for a price. He’s not particularly tall or wide, leaning more into the lithe body type the Cats and the Vipers favour, rather than the bulky muscly one of the Wolves, the Griffins or –  _ gods forbid _ – the Bears do (Manticores and Cranes are a whole other discussion altogether, too diverse to fit into any category).

With a few minor modifications it’ll fit him like a glove (and additionally, Aiden will like it – not that Lambert cares what his friend thinks of him. No, not at all).

“How much for the dress?” he asks as nonchalantly and disinterested as he can muster.

“Got a lady-friend witcher?” the woman at the stall smirks and cocks an eyebrow at him.

“None of your fucking business, lady. How much?”

“Three hundred silver coins for you.”

“And for a regular bloke? How much then?”

“Hundred and fifty,” she grins a rotten smile before she falls into laughter. He rolls his eyes. “Messing with ya, sir witcher. Three hundred for everyone. Ain’t in the business of ripping off your kind.”

Lambert mirrors her grin, flashing sharp canines, and narrows his eyes at her. “Two hundred,” he says.

“Two eighty.”

“Two forty.”

“Let’s meet in the middle,” she says, “Two fifty, deal?”

“Deal.” They shake hands and Lambert reaches for his coin pouch, hidden carefully in a compartment of his leather vest.

* * *

Lambert must admit that it was quite the pricey acquisition; his coin pouch feeling a lot lighter than before. But it’s going to be worth it. He only needs to find a way to replenish his funds fast so that he can buy the explosives he needs for his various bombs, because damn Anika but she raised the prices again and Lambert’s nowhere near the asked upon amount of coin.

But as Anika’s wife, Mariya, helpfully provided there’s hefty prize money offered to whoever completes the town’s single contract. There have been some mysterious disappearances over the past few months; woodcutters and miners that never returned from their jobs on the neighbouring, still dusted with snow, red mountains.

The mayor is as much of an arsewipe as Lambert remembered him being, tight-lipped when it comes to offering possibly life-saving information and sour-faced as if he ate a whole basket of lemons.

_ Right then. _

Maybe Lambert ought to wait for Aiden to join him and then venture to the mountains in search of the –  _ absolutely monster fodder by now _ – missing villagers. Then again, the prospect of pissing off the Cat and having enough coin to secure comfy lodging for both of them seems very attractive at the moment.

Ah, fuck it. He’ll go take a look, and if it’s anything too dangerous for a single witcher he’ll back off and wait for his friend to arrive. Theoretically, he should be here by the end of the week, and Lambert is more than capable of camping outside the town for this length of time.

Like this, he sets out to the mountain path the town’s folk use, leaving his horse and baggage in the hands of a trustworthy stable-hand, taking with him only the absolutely necessary; twin swords, a couple of grapeshot bombs left over from the last season, some long-lasting provisions, and a copious amount of Swallow potions.

_ Search for clues as to might have caused the disappearances, and get the fuck out if it’s a nest of gryphons or some shit _ , he reminds himself.

He keeps his eyes peeled for any tracks or human remains as he trails the narrow muddy path. There’s not much vegetation going on in this part of the world, only a few low trees yet to sprout leaves and a bunch of bushy wild-flowers that look drier than they should be considering the season. Ergo, if there were some beast or monster or whatever yanking the humans so close to the town –  _ as the fucker mayor said _ – it wouldn’t be able to hide and there would be visible marks on the earth indicating its existence. But there’s no such thing; therefore Lambert needs to get higher up the mountain.

There’s something off about this contract no matter how he sees it. Minimal information, unwilling to speak and superstitious townfolk – hell, even Mariya who’s usually chatty and friendly said that nobody knows shit about what’s happening when he asked her for details. Just that people go up this path and they never return. How far up nobody deigned it important to tell him.

_ Fucking hell. _

Only one thing left to do; walk and hope for the best. Whatever it is that’s abducting the humans will attempt to attack him sooner or later.

* * *

The landscape, the higher on the mountain Lambert goes, grows even more astounding. Large orange and red-brown rocky formations shape columns and archways, tall and imposing. Streams branch and tangle forming a small river, eating further through the stone, the water trickling pleasantly.

Aside from the chittering of the bugs and the chirping of the birds that reside in the low vegetation nothing much points to the existence of monsters known to reside on mountains. 

No wyverns, no gryphons, no forktails. Nothing. So he might as well enjoy the walk. 

_ Aiden would like it here _ , he thinks absent-mindedly.

In the distance, Lambert can discern the beginning of a forest and he reckons he might have a bit more luck in his search there. After all, it was predominantly woodcutters and miners that disappeared and he’s not encountered a fucking mine yet and the forest is just  _ there _ , so he might as well try his luck.

He passes another fucking massive archway, and the forest is in full view. It’s like another world here, much more reminding Kaedwen than southern Aedirn. Ancient trees stand tall – too fucking high if you ask Lambert – the vegetation rich and thick.

Surely, he’ll find  _ something  _ hiding here.

* * *

Lambert doesn’t find shit. Rather, shit finds Lambert.

A swift hit on the head from…  _ something _ appearing out of thin fucking air and he’s conked out till evening.

When he opens his eyes he finds himself lying on soft green grass, his head ringing like he had one glass of white-gull too many. It smells of wet cow – and how he’s able to discern that particular smell is a fucking mystery to him – and coincidentally also of cow shit.

_ Excellent. His equipment is missing too. _

“You alright there, mate?” a clear male voice calls.

Lambert snaps his head – a bit too fast – towards the unknown man and comes face to face with a rather, scarred witcher.

“Easy now,” the witcher extends a hand to help him rise to his feet, which Lambert pointedly ignores and scrambles gracelessly till he finds his balance. “Their magics got you too, didn’t they?”

Lambert manages to sit cross-legged scanning the witcher with his gaze; broad, tall, long brown hair and beard, scars, bear medallion hanging from his neck, lute in his hands.

_ Wait. Lute? _

“What’s a witcher doing with a fucking lute?” Lambert blurts out.

“They like entertainment and I like to play,” the man responds, flashing a fanged smile.

“Who the fuck’s  _ ‘they’ _ ?”

“The family of giants that live in this part of the mountain, of course,” the Bear Witcher points to a massive stone house. It’s then that Lambert realises they’re inside a, quite large, cage, the tall intertwined metal bars restricting the full view to the outside. “I’m relatively certain there’s a whole village further up. Seen a couple of giant-folk, that don’t belong to the quite lovely family of four, once or twice.”

“Civilized giants?” Lambert blinks in disbelief. From his limited experience giants while intelligent are still quite primitive. At best they live in caves and hunt for food. And they sure as hell don’t breed cattle.

“I know, right? Exciting!”

“Yet they have us imprisoned,” Lambert sighs rubbing his eyes with a hand. “Say, are the missing townsfolk here?”

“We  _ did trespass _ into their territory armed to the teeth,” the other witcher points out, “And no, from what I’ve overheard the humans were sentenced to death for attacking them? I’m not sure about the details, to be honest.”

“Didn’t expect to find them alive. Humans tend to be fucking stupid.”

The witcher hums in agreement. “It’s sad but what can you do. Self-defence and all,” he gestures abstractly. “What’s bugging me though is that I’m here nigh two weeks now and they don’t seem to actually want me dead. It got me thinking that they put the magic thingamajig up way after the last human  _ ‘disappeared’ _ ,” he finger quotes. “Maybe they don’t really like killing.”

“Two weeks. Oh, wow.”

“The food’s good,” the man shrugs, “and they’re pretty nice to talk to. Haven’t managed to convince them to release me though. And forget about using Igni on those bars, they’re too thick to melt, believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Fucking perfect,” Lambert sighs. Aiden will surely try to find him when he finally arrives at the town and Mariya tells him of the contract. And just like this, he’ll find himself imprisoned too. Lambert sighs again. Well, at least he won’t mind having the Cat as company.

“Hey, we’ll get out of here somehow. I’ll annoy them to releasing us if I have to,” the man smiles sympathetically, “Name’s Julian by the way.”

“Lambert.”

“Well, Lambert, enjoy the vacation while it lasts. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m jesting.”

* * *

Julian is an interesting person, Lambert must admit. Every time the giants visit to see how the witchers in captivity fare, he greets them by name with a smile and a song, chit-chatting about anything that crosses his mind, and answering whatever question they may ask. He even sings besides from playing the lute, like a fucking master lutenist, and he’s got quite the pleasant voice too – not that Lambert will ever admit that to the man himself, lest he wants him to never stop singing.

Like this, the sun rises and sets, and rises and sets and they are nowhere closer to convincing the giants to let them go. When Lambert asks a young (he assumes he’s young at least) man named Timo why they bother keeping them there, feeding them their precious food, Timo shrugs and says that they can’t have them bring more people to their village. That the if the humans believe two witchers dead they’ll stop sending men to claim their land. And even when both Lambert and Julian assure him that they aren’t gonna do such a thing, that they’ll just leave them be, Timo says that it’s not up to him to release them.

In three days time Aiden, predictably, gets thrown into their shared cage carried on the arms of the youngest daughter of the giant family; a three and a half metre tall lass by the name of Ina.

“And another one,” Ina sighs, “Hope this one has a better voice than you, Lambert. You’re gonna provide entertainment at Timo’s betrothal thing.”

“Let us go afterwards?” Julian smiles.

“Nope.”

“Shoot. Well, no harm asking. Tell your brother congratulations from us. Right, Lambchop?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“See, he agrees,” Julian laughs, and Ina shakes her head, locking the door to the cage.

“That your friend the Cat?” Julian asks, when the girl is out of hearing distance, prodding at the unconscious form of Aiden.

“Yeah.”

“Listen. Well, actually forget it I’ll say it when he wakes up in a couple of hours,” Julian wiggles his eyebrows and Lambert squints at his theatrics.

“You’ve got a plan.” It’s not a question.

Julian nods, and leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “You’ll see.”

“Don’t be a little shit, Julian.”

“Me? A little shit? _ Never! _ ” Julian places a splayed hand on his chest in mock-offence, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

* * *

“Laaaaambs,” Aiden groans, “Come here you bastard, I can smell you.”

“If you would open your fucking eye you’d see me too,” Lambert huffs but scoots closer to his friend helping him up, nonetheless. “Are you alright, kitten?”

“I’ll live.”

“That’s terrible news,” Lambert deadpans.

“Asshole,” Aiden punches him on the shoulder, unable to hide the smirk that forms on his lips.

“Still, you love me,” Lambert half-jokes, the thought of having Aiden’s  _ love _ making him feel all fuzzy inside. He decides he doesn’t like this feeling.

“Oh shut up, you. By the way, found your new dress Lambs; you finally mustered the courage ey?”

“ _ Aiden! _ ” Lambert hisses, feeling the telltale warmth of a blush creeping up on him. He’s quite certain that his face is now redder than his hair. "We're not alone!"

"Hi there," Julian glances up from his notebook --and how fucking generous their captors are to have allowed him this luxury-- and waves a hand.

Lambert just wants to hide in a hole for a century and a half and emerge when everyone and their offspring will have forgotten he ever existed.

_ Damn, Julian's dramatics must be rubbing off on him. _

"Oops!" Aiden giggles, "Sorry Lambs." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "My lips are sealed tight from now on. But it really is a beautiful dress, the colours really compliment your complexion."

"Goddamnit Aiden!"

“No, no go on,” Julian waves a hand, “No need to be embarrassed, I have an eye for fashion myself. Though I do prefer slacks to skirts. But that’s just a matter of personal preference.”

“You can hide many bombs in skirts,” Lambert says dumbly. “And knives,” he adds as if that magically makes it better. His face feels hot and his stomach twists.

"Naturally," Julian nods in agreement, "That's precisely why dress wearing people are such efficient assassins."

"They are?" Aiden gasps in surprise. 

"No idea, I'm just making shit up to make you feel better." Julian grins and Lambert smacks him on the shoulder. "Hey! If we want to discuss the logistics of assassins in dresses I suppose I can provide you with many reasons as to why this particular garment may prove superior to-" 

"Didn't you have a grand escape plan to share with us,  _ Bear _ ?" Lambert snarls.

"Sure did," Julian smiles and resumes scribbling something down in his notebook using a small piece of coal as a writing utensil.

"You gonna talk or what, you fucker?

"Do tell, do tell sir bear," Aiden shifts his weight from side to side as he's seated cross-legged on the ground. 

"Eager, aren't we?" 

" _ Godsfuckingdamnit, Julian! _ "

"Fine, fine," Julian pouts, "You're not fun Lambchop!" He pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, rising to his feet towering over both of the other witchers. Lambert rolls his eyes, used to Julian's dramatics even after having spent only three days with the Bear Witcher. "So, it goes like this…"

* * *

It has to be the most stupid fucking plan in the existence of plans. Surely. Yet, Lambert is strangely convinced that it may actually work. Aiden seems engrossed with the whole thing, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. 

As Ina mentioned, a whole six days ago, the giants intend for them to act as entertainment for Timo's handfasting fest. 

The witchers are being moved closer to the big house the family resides, still locked up in their cage. The four, strong, giant lads, who are carrying their temporary prison, deposit it right next to the cow's enclosure. It's exactly as Julian predicted, Lambert notices. 

"And remember," Julian whispers in a voice so low in volume only a witcher would be able to discern the words, "Axii doesn't work on the smart ones, believe me, I've tried, but even the smartest of them will be dumb enough after the ingestion copious amounts of alcohol." 

"We know how Axii works, Julian," Aiden rolls his eyes.

"Now, boys," one of the giants responsible for moving them here says, "once the rest of the guests arrive we're gonna let you out, under strict supervision, so that you may sing those jaunty human tunes of yours, Timo likes so much."

_ Huh? That's infinitely better than they anticipated. _ They may even get the chance to get their equipment back -given they find out where the giants stashed it of course. 

Lambert shares a look with the other two witchers. 

* * *

It’s not the biggest wedding Lambert had the displeasure of being invited to, and forced to attend, -- as much as being captive of a family of giants counts as being invited -- as near thirty colossal men and women show up to the porch of the farmhouse to celebrate Timo’s binding to a lad named Jan. The number of the guests might not have been big, but the guests themselves were, and boy was that  _ something _ . 

Lambert, not being particularly tall for a - _ human-adjacent _ \- mutant feels especially tiny between the towering giants dancing and celebrating and drinking - _ so much drinking _ ; gallons of what smells like mead and whiskey consumed in one evening. 

Julian and Aiden are singing rowdy sea shanties at the moment, relishing the welcoming cheers of the crowd, while Lambert is stuck watching them from the distance, declining politely the advances of a few giantesses (who, let’s be real, wouldn’t waste a moment to stomp him to death if he had opted to act like his usual prickly self).

Aiden looks breathtakingly gorgeous, dark skin flushed from singing and dancing and dark hair curling from sweat. The thought surprises Lambert. He inwardly scolds himself and averts his gaze from the Cat - _ his platonic friend _ , his mind reminds him. 

So, Lambert plays his part in Julian’s plan, coaxing the friendly giants to refill their barrel-sized mugs with alcohol, by challenging them to a drinking contest. Lambert’s witchery constitution means he can’t, really, get inebriated by consuming normal alcoholic beverages. Well that, and the fact that he’s toughest fucking mug in the northern part in the Continent. Only his special brew of white-gull can bring him to a state of tipsiness these days. And that’s practically poison to non-witchers. 

Needles to say, one by one the giants start slurring their words, start giggling for no reason at all and when they seem unable to keep their eyes open Lambert knows it won’t be long till the pass out for good. It won’t be long till the witchers can finally get the fuck away from this place. 

Julian starts playing a lullaby when he sees that most of the guests are nursing their barrel-mugs of mead, heads dropping, unable to stay awake. Of course, there are some (two women) that don’t look particularly inebriated as of yet and that’s something they can’t do much about. 

Unless… 

Lambert moves closer to the singing witchers nodding to the alert women who are currently trying to wake their spouses and relatives. 

“Let’s bloody Somne them and get going,” he whispers. 

“Good idea, much better than Axii. You take one, Aiden the other,” Julian says, “I’ll keep playing lullabies and then go fetch our stuff. I’ve overheard this handsome fella,” he points to a butt-ugly (in Lambert’s opinion) giant passed out in a bowl of half-eaten pie, “say they keep it in the shed. I’m perfectly able to carry it by myself - no worries friends. I’ll meet you in the cow field thing.” 

“The cow enclosure you mean,” Aiden chimes. 

“Yeah, that thing. Make them lose our scent, in a literal way.” 

Lambert and Aiden nod in unison and split up to approach the women. 

Two carefully cast Somne signs later the ladies lie prone on the soft grass. Aiden and Lambert exchange a look and they regroup jumping up the relatively short wooden fence of the enclosure. 

“That’s gotta be the weirdest situation I’ve ever found myself in,” Aiden chuckles mingling with the sleeping animals while they wait for Julian to arrive with their stuff. 

“No shit,” Lambert huffs a laugh, “Still think the cow part is unnecessary, to be honest.” 

“Agreed, but Julian seems pleased with his plan, so let’s humour him.”

“Ruuuuun!” Julian yells running towards them, hands full with gambesons and armguards, three pair of swords and multiple daggers strapped on his back and hips. And right behind him, the furious form of Ina wielding an enormous axe stomps through the ground. 

Well, fuck. 

Lambert stays rooted in place, heart racing in his ribcage as he watches the Bear Witcher slide beneath the fence, accidentally kicking a sleeping cow on the stomach which startles awake and moos so loudly it wakes the rest of the animals. This, unfortunately, leads to fifty or so cows trampling about all over the place. 

_ So this is how he dies. Death by a cow, how poetic. _

Lambert barely feels Aiden yanking him from the arm, guiding him between the bovine mayhem. 

“Can’t lose you now, Lambs,” Aiden mumbles, “Especially not like  _ this! _ You mean too much to me, you pretty bastard!”

“R- really?” Lambert stammers, Aiden’s words grounding him to reality, pushing forward by himself now, dodging and rolling out of the way of the frightened animals. 

“Fuck Lambs, I love you!”

Lambert feels his throat constricting as the words desperately try to leave his mouth.  _ Love.  _ Is this why his heart tumbles when he looks at the Cat? Can this be the reason he arrives always too early on their meeting spots, eager to spend just a little bit more time with him?

He swallows and speaks, “Me too, kitten!” 

“What did I miss?” Julian pants, armours and miscellaneous equipment still held tight in his embrace, Ina nowhere in sight. 

“Nothing,” Lambert half-shouts, grabbing his gambeson from the Bear Witcher’s hold, “Did you kill her?” 

“I’m not a monster, Lambchop. I just guess my Somne works with time delay. Never been quite good with signs I must regrettably admit. Now let’s fucking get our horses from Bruenville and never return.” 

“Bruenville?” Lambert knits his eyebrows together in confusion. 

“So that’s the trader town’s name! Good to know, good to know,” Aiden says, preoccupied with strapping his daggers on their rightful place; namely on his thighs. 

“ _ Right _ ,” Julian blinks in disbelief. “Tell me again how many years you’ve been meeting at this town? Ten was it? Oh, nevermind. Let’s get going.”

* * *

The road to Bruenville is silent. None of the witchers has the energy to talk, too busy scouring their surroundings for possible threats. Luckily, whatever magic knocked them out in the first place doesn’t work on the way out of the giant’s territory and the witchers make it out unscathed. 

They arrive at the trader town when the moon is high on the sky, illuminating the cobblestone streets just enough for the witchers to be able to find their way to the stables without much trouble. 

The trio enters the stables as silently as possible, which is, surprisingly, almost soundless except for the soft sound of their boots and Julian’s lute case gentle thump on his hips as he walks. They expect to see their trusty steeds waiting for them, their stay prepaid for many days in advance. Instead, they find nothing. 

“Fucking cock,” Julian curses, “Knew they would sell Earthworm if I took too long to come back.” A deep, defeated sigh escapes his lips. “But I guess it makes sense, gone as I was for three weeks.” 

“Those bastards,” Lambert suppresses the urge to set the stable on fire. 

“You named your horse Earthworm?”  _ This _ is what Aiden chooses important to point out, not the disappearance of their horses and with them half of their shit. 

“She looked earthwormy,” Julian raises his hands in defence. 

Lambert scuttles inside searching for any trace of his saddlebags. When he finds no trace of it left, not even a residual smell of potions and toxins, he sighs in defeat, his blood boiling with anger. 

Oh, fucking shit-cock. His dress! Fucking two hundred fifty silvers worth of cloth. 

Lambert liked that town too, damn it. But no, they had to be utter shit stains and get rid not only of his horse but also of his other,  _ important _ , stuff. 

"Hey, Lambs," Aiden's rough hand wipes the rogue tears that somehow managed to escape Lambert's eyes, "Look what I found hanging from a laundry string two streets away," he presents him a bundle of soft woven fabric. 

Lambert takes it in his hands, running his fingers over the embroidered flowers. He looks up from it, meeting the Cat's golden eye and smiles, "You whoreson."

Aiden leans forward, till he's a breath away from the wolf witcher and whispers, "Anything for my little bastard."

"I'm sorry to remind you that I'm here and able to hear – oh, that rhymed! Nice! Nevertheless, we better get going, lest we want the good folk of Bruenville to hold us accountable for failing to find their missing humans," Julian says in a hushed voice beckoning them towards the street. 

* * *

"Where to now?" Julian says when they're a good distance from the sleeping trader town. "Heard that Skellige has a bit of a siren problem, and I don't know about you but I feel that's a sure and easy way to make coin and buy ourselves some new horses."

Aiden shrugs, "What do you say Lambs? We follow the obviously short of a marble Bear?"

"Sure, why not? We make a darn good team, after all," Lambert grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was a disaster really, but I still hope you enjoyed reading it <3  
> I do love writing dialogue and it shows.
> 
> Edit: This is absolutely a prequel to All the world I've seen before me passing by. And yes I am projecting my deminess onto Lambert. Tho I'm technically a demi-woman. But more often than not the big vast void.   
> I'll come back and fix some things when I get the spoons for it. Life has been,,,, less than okay.   
> In any case, see ya soon!


End file.
